


The Truth, as Told By E.A.P. and a Few Pints

by vihistoo



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, and tired mary and molly, did you ask for fluff?, drunk!lock, lots of fluff, well you got it anyway, with cute affectionate drunk sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-06
Updated: 2015-07-06
Packaged: 2018-04-08 00:29:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4283763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vihistoo/pseuds/vihistoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John whines when Mary's hand slips off his back to grab her mobile, but she knows she has to get help quickly. Her husband refuses to move an inch away from her; he’s literally glued to her side, and his best friend is muttering something about Molly to a jacket hanging on the coat rack, gesticulating wildly in motions he probably thinks are elegant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Truth, as Told By E.A.P. and a Few Pints

**Author's Note:**

> ...hiii.  
>  I'm sorry. I know it's been a long time - three months. I have had so many things going on. All sorts of different obligations that were taking up my attention and time. But I've brought along a nice, fluffy fic to apologise, so I hope you all forgive me. I know it's short, but I needed a break from the other three fics I'm also writing. (Why do I do this to myself?)
> 
> p.s. the poem I refer to is Annabel Lee, by Edgar Allan Poe.
> 
> Ta, and as always, thanks for reading.  
> -V-

Molly had just set down her cup of tea when her mobile rang. A quick glance at the screen before she answered the call displayed a picture of Mary smiling, along with her name, and so despite the late - or early -  hour (it was 12:30, she'd just gotten off the night shift), she answered it.

"Hello, Mary," Molly said, smiling slightly. "What do you need?"

"Help me," Mary said, and Molly froze.

"What?" she asked, straightening as worst case scenarios began to fly through her mind.

"Your boyfriend is bloody heavy and completely plastered, Greg left early, John's slobbering on my jumper, and it took nearly 20 minutes to free my hand just to call you. Help me."

Molly's sigh of relief ended in a laugh. Greg and John had somehow convinced her detective to go out for a celebratory drinkies to commemorate their 100th case together. In all her life, she'd never seen Sherlock drunk, so she'd be lying to say she wasn't curious.

"I'm getting dressed now, Mary," Molly assured. "Where are you?"

"The Badger's Head pub on Francis Street. Please hurry. Sherlock is talking to the coat rack and mumbling your name. I'm getting weird looks," her friend begged, and once again, Molly broke into laughter. She hung up moments later, changed out of her pyjamas, and hailed a cab.

Upon entering the pub, she was immediately met with Sherlock, who - when he saw her - gave the most adoring grin she'd ever seen and stumbled towards her. Being the eldest sibling had given her lots of practise so shooting out her hands to catch him was instinctual and easy.

"My - my Molly," he mumbled. "You're 'ere."

Molly smiled, lifting a hand to cup his cheek. He hummed and closed his eyes, leaning into her palm. "Yes, love, I'm here."

Sherlock waved a hand clumsily behind him, pointing at the line of hanging coats and hats. " I was tell - tellin' them about you. 'Ow you're y - you, and all that."

Molly huffed out a laugh, shifting her gaze around him to meet Mary's eyes, biting her lip at the sight of John curled under her arm and against her chest like a child. They shared a second of wordless communication in the way that all women do, and nodded, wrapping their arms around their beloveds and exiting the noisy pub.

As they perched on the kerb to wait for an available cab, Sherlock ducked his head to peer at her and blinked slowly. Molly's lips twitched into a smile.

"Yes, Sherlock?" she questioned, rubbing a thumb over his hand where she held it across her shoulders.

"I - I" he started, blinking again and shaking his head. "I love you more than anything, Molly Hooper," Sherlock announced solemnly.

Molly felt her lips part in surprise. They'd both said it before, but he'd always said just the three words, and had never before stared deeply into her eyes or let his breath - alcohol-drenched it may be - wash over her as he said them. He looked so tender that her chest clenched fiercely in emotion. Molly turned slightly and Sherlock followed her lead, winding his arms around her waist and bending down until his cheek rested against her temple.

"As do I, Sherlock. You're my everything," Molly replied softly, rubbing a soothing hand up and down his back.

He sighed suddenly and relaxed, forcing Molly to take a small step back with her left foot to keep them balanced. Sherlock's arms squeezed her to him tightly for a long moment, and he buried his nose in her hair, inhaling deeply.

"Cab's here," Mary called, smiling softly and cradling the back of John's head in reflex as she viewed her friends in their embrace.

Molly pushed Sherlock into an upright position with a hand on his chest, and drew him into movement with her arm around his waist. John and Mary had already settled in the back-facing side of the cab, so that left them the front.

Sherlock was released from her hold to enter the cab, and she winced and gave voice to a small sound of worry when he tripped. His hand latched onto the roof, but too late and too drunk it seemed, for his head kept going, banging into the metal with a dull thud. Sherlock groaned and fell into the cab, and Molly followed, picking him up and pulling him into the seat next to her, shutting the door. Mary had apparently already given the cabbie the address to 221B, because the moment they were all sitting, they began to move.

Sherlock was rubbing his forehead and frowning. "I appear t' be the slight - the slightest bit drunk."

"Only the slightest bit," Molly agreed with a grin, taking his hand away from his forehead to see the damage. It was difficult to see detail in the dim light of the cab, but from what she could make out from the intermittent lights of the lamp posts, the area was turning red.

"Poor thing," she muttered, cupping Sherlock's cheek in her hand.

"Will you kiss it?" he slurred quietly, swaying forward. "Your kisses are always good."

Molly smiled softly. He was certainly never this affectionate, and frankly, it was downright adorable. She gave him a soft kiss on the nascent bruise and he grinned lopsidingly, shuffling closer to her and laying his chin on her shoulder, nuzzling his cheek against hers. His arms went around her waist and Molly laid hers over his shoulders to rest on his back, winding the fingers of one hand into his hair and stroking his scalp. Mary and Molly shared a quiet giggle as they met each other's eyes, holding their crime fighting heroes gone love-stuck puppies close.

When they arrived at Baker Street, Molly carefully extracted Sherlock from the cab, saying goodbye to Mary while she did it, and led her boyfriend into the flat building slowly. He'd gotten soft and sleepy on the ride, lulled by her warmth and the way she pet his hair.

Going up the stairs was a slow effort, but they made it, and Molly walked them through the kitchen and down the hall to Sherlock's - their - room. She propped him against the wall and began working on stripping him so he could sleep comfortably. His shoes came first - Sherlock kicked them off unceremoniously - then his outer layers. He watched her hands unbutton his dress shirt after shedding his Belstaff and suit jacket.

"Your 'ands are so tinny - tiny. Such little 'ands. You're my 'lil woman," he murmured, stopping her hands with his as they rested on his now bare chest.

Molly tilted her head, lifting the corners of her lips into a smile. The shirt was draped over the back of his chair with his suit jacket, and she began to undo his trouser buttons.

"Ooh, are we 'aving sex? I like 'aving sex with you," Sherlock said, suddenly brightening, and when Molly looked up he had a wide grin on his face.

"No," she laughed. "Not tonight, love. You're wasted."

"Still," Sherlock countered, leaning forward off the wall and cupping the back of her neck to bring her closer, his remaining hand pulling her flush against his naked chest by the small of her back. "You could never resist me."

Molly stared up at him, lost in his eyes and the heated lust they carried. Sherlock's lips lifted into a burningly smug smirk, and he began to lower his head. Her hands curled against his back, and -

\- the moment was broken by the unmistakable sound of his trousers hitting the floor. Sherlock stopped, and leaned away from her, looking down at the fabric pooled at his feet and frowning.

Molly sighed fondly and bent to remove them, a tricky act that required him to balance with the aid of his hand on her shoulder. She also took the chance to remove his socks, knowing he hated sleeping in them. She pushed him back to flop on the bed and went to his wardrobe, tugging off her trousers, shirt, and bra, giggling when Sherlock made an interested noise and she heard him shift on the bed.

In just her knickers, she tugged on one of his t-shirts and turned, giggling again as she viewed him. He was laid back on his elbows, cheeks still flushed red from the alcohol, forehead sporting a lovely knot, curls mussed and messy.

"My man," she sighed, climbing on her side of the bed and sliding beneath the covers.

Sherlock did the same, scooting forward and tugging her elbow so she would slide toward the middle as well. His arm slipped under the pillow and her head, allowing him to pull her close so they were chest to chest. Sherlock brought a hand out from under the duvet and dragged fingers over her cheek.

"Sweet, pretty Molly," he muttered quietly. " _My_ sweet, pretty Molly. Honest, gentle, caring, adorable, tiny Molly. And she's mine. And I love her. Y-you. I love _you_ , Molly."

Her cheeks burned in the darkness, and she burrowed into his chest, setting her nose in the scrummy place between his shoulder and neck, inhaling deeply, savouring the bergamont and rose of his cologne and the pure smell of Sherlock underneath it all.

"You've already said," she teased gently. "But I love you, too."

He squeezed held her close as he rolled onto his back and laid her on his warm chest. "I love you more," Sherlock insisted softly.

"Impossible," Molly reasoned, hitching a leg over his and settling a hand over his heart.

"Possible," he countered. "And once you've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, 'owever improbable, must be the truth."

His words, and the culmination of all the affection he'd shown her made her feel very warm. A contented sigh breezed out of her, and she cuddled closer to Sherlock when he dropped a kiss on her head in response.

She felt her thoughts becoming hazy, and her limbs heavy. Just before she sunk into the arms of Morpheus, a quote from a poem Sherlock had read to her danced through her mind:

_We loved with a love that was more than love._

And that, my friends, was the truth.


End file.
